I Am Still Here
by Rowena of Naxen
Summary: The last Lady Knight: the death of an era. An accident that can never be undone, a mistake that can never be forgiven, and she is still here. // Written for MOT's February challenge, please R&R. Warning: death/violence/angst


**This is written for the JoGeNuDoNaRo challenge from the Men of Tortall forum. Prompt for February: Free**

**Disclaimer: Tammy owns everything you recognize.**

**Warning: Death and some violence.**

I Am Still Here

"You mustn't worry," she whispered as he drew her into a close embrace.

"But I always do," he told her, almost smiling. "I don't know what I would do if I lost you."

She pressed a kiss to his lips and drew away. "You'll never have to find out." She promised solemnly. "We will always be together."

Their stolen moment was interrupted by a general's cry, and they mounted their horses and rode into battle. She was fierce on the field, guiding her war horse through the throng, dispatching knights from Tusaine with her sword and shield. She didn't become a knight of Tortall just by looking pretty; she wasn't afraid of the grit and grime of war, of the injured around her or the blood on her sword. She knew her duty.

She sent a man flying with the flat of her sword and maneuvered her way around his body as it fell from his horse. The other army was starting to retreat, they were afraid—she caught sight of him, sword to sword with another knight; but Goddess, he was magnificent, the other man had no chance.

He backed his horse away, not noticing the man charging toward him from behind—icy fear flooded her veins, and she screamed is name in warning—

"_Christopher!_"

He turned to see her, and smiled, love and relief written clear across his face; he didn't' see the panic in her eyes, until it was to late and—

_Schwip!_

She heard the sword slice through the air, despite the battle roar surrounding her, and she saw it all—saw his eyes roll back and his head fly off, blood spraying everywhere. His horse reared back in fear and his doll-like, maimed body fell off to be trampled underfoot by the mad soldiers around him.

She screamed again, her head thrown back in a keening cry that tore out of her like a song, only no song was as horrible as this. The scream turned to a wail, the wail to a sob, to another awful, pitiful, terrible scream.

Foot soldiers turned to stare—only one person on the battlefield could make that sound.

A sergeant grabbed her from her horse, tried to pull her from the field; she screamed and kicked and fought to get back to Christopher, to protect the body that wasn't even him anymore, all broken in two.

A slap across the face shut her mouth, and a voice she should have recognized growled "We're at _war_, Madeline. Stay here, stay quiet, _stay safe_."

And she was left, collapsed on the edge of the field, body shaking with sobs. The realization—_he's gone_—beat against her chest like a second heartbeat.

_He's gone, he's gone, he's gone._

Even worse—this one beat like a hammer against her lungs—

_It's all my fault_.

She couldn't cry at the funeral.

Her eyes hurt so badly—she wanted to cry, but all the tears were gone, replaced by guilt so heavy she thought it might drown her.

The tomb was already closed, and she was glad she didn't have to see his head separated from his body again. At the same time, she longed to see his face once more—she feared her memory of it had been washed away by tears.

After the service, which others said was beautiful, she didn't move. Her sister, sitting next to her, spoke quietly.

"Please smile, Madeline."

The silence stretched on as she sat like a statue, eyes open, red, and dry.

"I know you won't—"

"I can't." Her voice was strangled, sore from lying dormant.

"His spirit is free now, Madeline. He would want you to let him go."

Behind her, unheard, he silently echoed the words.

_My spirit is free, yet I am still here with you. Let it go, my love, let me go._

She didn't even feel a chill when he tried to touch her.

"But _I_ am still here."

Months passed and the air grew colder. The day that would have been their wedding came and went marked only by Madeline contemplating sinking her sword deep into her chest.

When she was summoned to see the king, she assumed he would be giving her a new assignment. In a dim, muted way she was glad to be going back to her life as a knight. She loved her country, she enjoyed serving the king and his people. Even if all the familiar places would send memories of Christopher shooting to her head, she would be glad to go back.

What she found wasn't what she had expected.

The king sat at his desk, dark hair swept away from his face. But at his side sat her father, as somber as ever, his eyes on the floor. Then she caught sight of the woman on the other side of the king—the widowed Marie of Deerhorn, who still wore all black for her husband and son.

"Madeline," the king acknowledged her as she sank into her seat.

"You called for me, Your Majesty?"

He nodded gravely. "I did. Madeline, we have given you time to rest and recover from your loss, but after a discussion with my council, we have reached a decision about your future in Tortall."

"Yes?" her voice didn't waver, her face was calm.

His words fell on her ears like a death sentence. "Lady Knight Madeline of Silverbrook, the council has reviewed your uncontrolled behavior in the recent battle against Tusaine in which your behavior caused your fiancé, Sir Christopher of Deerhorn's, death. In the face of this regrettable event, the council has decided to remove you from the position of knight of the realm of Tortall."

The king paused, as if to let this sink in. Madeline fought to keep her face closed, her eyes dry, though she had been sure she had no more tears inside her. Next to the king, her father looked smug—he had never been a supporter of her dream of knighthood. Christopher's mother looked—remorseful, perhaps? Was it possible she felt sorry for her?

"Furthermore, the council has decided to act on a proposal that has long been dormant. In light of recent events, the council looks back upon Walter of Stone Mountain's suggestion that we do away with lady knights completely with new eyes." The king lowered his gaze to the table. "From now on there will be no lady knights of the realm of Tortall. This is the council's decision."

Somehow Madeline kept breathing, though she felt like she was drowning in the binding words.

_What have I done?_

It all seemed so much worse now—she was nothing, not a lady knight and nowhere near a lady. Christopher had taken her heart and her body, and the country he had fought for had grabbed away her last remaining purpose. All that was left of her was a husk.

She stood up almost in a trance, words excusing herself tumbling from her lips in a pattern that she didn't understand. The king nodded and motioned that she could go, her father smirked at her, and Marie simply stared at her lap.

She didn't remember the path to her rooms but found herself there, she let the door drift shut behind her and made her way to the dressing room. She shed her heavy black mourning clothes, relishing the air on her skin, and pawed through a chest to find the summer dress Christopher had so loved. As she pulled it on she remembered how sweet it had felt when he pulled it off her, placing butterfly kisses along her neck, murmuring her name.

_Madeline, Madeline, always _my_ Madeline._

She could have sworn she heard his voice as she released her hair from it's braid, imagining his fingers combing it out, soft and gentle.

She put on satin slippers, the kind meant for dancing, and began to walk.

Her eyes were straight ahead, not watching anything, as she left the palace in a dream. The frost on the grass soaked her shoes and froze her toes, but she couldn't feel it.

There was a new beat against her chest now.

_Everything gone, everything gone, _everything_ gone._

She crossed the lawns in an almost trance, her dress a blaze of blue against the dim gray sky, her eyes focused on only one destination.

Balor's Needle.

In it's soft shade Christopher had kissed her for the first time, leaning her against the wall in a stolen second after breakfast. His breath had smelled of mint.

He had told her he loved her in that very same spot, only it was night, and there were couples dancing on the balcony who couldn't see them.

And at the very top he had asked for her hand, with a brilliant ring and a nervous smile, and she had given him her word.

_But I broke it._

She climbed the inside staircase, shivering in the sudden warmth, her new purpose becoming clearer with each step.

Behind her Christopher watched, panic growing, as it became clear what she was going to do.

Something akin to a smile flickered on her face.

She reached the top.

The wind whipped her dress against her legs, blew her hair madly across her face, but it didn't stop her as she crossed determinedly to the edge.

"They all say to let you go, Christopher." She spoke normally, as she had before the war, and anyone standing near would have heard her if not for the wind. "They say that going to the Peaceful Realms is no tragedy. They say that your soul is free, but I am keeping you here because I can't let go."

Her sigh was lost in the wind.

"But Christopher, _I_ am not free. Your soul is gone, but I am still here, and I just don't understand it."

She slipped off her right slipper.

"I said we would always be together, Christopher."

Then the left.

"I lied."

She took a step closer to the edge.

"And I know—"she teetered at the top "—that is my fault you died."

She looked down at the drop, giving herself one last chance to back out. But of course she didn't—she never had.

His panic was a tangible thing, now, rushing through his mind.

Madeline took a deep breath.

_Madeline! MADELINE!_

She would go gladly.

**Don't say I didn't warn you!**

**Like I said, this was written for Men of Tortall's JoGeNuDoNaRo challenge. The prompt for February is "Free", and I highly suggest heading over to the forum to find out the details if you're interested. **

**Special thanks to **_**Navigator101**_** for beta-reading.**

**I wanted to write something about Tortall's last Lady Knight, since we don't know, well, **_**anything**_** about her. So here's my take. Please let me know what you think! **


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